The Hostage Situation
by Taisi
Summary: Mikey wasn't smart like Donnie was, Mikey's plan wasn't awesome or brilliant. But he was gonna make it work. (Oneshot)


A/N: Written for a prompt over on tumblr; "Mikey, Don hostage situation." The challenge was to write the same event from three different perspectives, the two characters I was prompted, and a third, unknown observer. I... tried.

* * *

"I already promised we'd cooperate, didn't I?" Mikey was saying calmly, with one of those half-smiles he always used to get out of trouble back home. "You have our weapons and our phones and everything, right? I'm not gonna try anything. I don't wanna get hurt, and I know you don't wanna hurt us. You look like a good guy."

He _didn't_ look like a good guy, in Donnie's opinion. He looked sickly and sallow, bags under his eyes and sores on his skin. There was a restlessness to him that made Donnie nervous, a constant shifting of his eyes, and a semi-automatic pistol in his hand.

"All I'm asking is for a favor, Wayne. That's your name, right? Wayne? Well, my brother Donnie, here, he's really hurting. He got shot earlier, and he's bleeding pretty badly."

He had to think of something. He had to come up with a plan to get them out of there, but… He was having trouble keeping his thoughts together. Mikey's arms around his shoulders were the only things keeping him upright anymore, his head cradled against his little brother's throat. His leg hurt, but Mikey's heartbeat was a quiet comfort beneath his ear.

"And I know the guy your boss is gonna take us to- trust me, he's not gonna want one of us half-dead. Takes all the fun out of it for himself, you know? So I was thinking, what if we left Donnie behind?"

Donnie went rigid against him, hand clamping around his brother's arm hard enough to bruise. "No," he hissed, or tried to- it came out as little more than a rasping cough, and Mikey's grip on him tightened when he tried to struggle upright, his baby brother curling around him to keep him quiet, keep him still. "N- no- don't, Mikey, _don't - "_

"How about it, Wayne? You can take me, and I won't even put up a fight. You can trust me, dude. I told you I'd cooperate, and I totally have been, right? And then just, tell the Tincan you only caught one of us! He'll be happy with just one of us."

He'd rather get shot again than hear this, he'd rather anything than this, clawing desperately at his brother's confining arms. Mikey couldn't- Mikey _couldn't-_ he'd never forgive him, never forgive him if-

"Sorry, D," came the sudden whisper in his ear, as the supporting arms around him fell away. He was maneuvered carefully back against the wall, head cupped in warm hands, and he blinked through furious, terrified tears as Mikey pressed their foreheads together. "You gotta stay here, bro."

"Don't, don't you dare." Donnie grabbed at him, fingers sliding clumsily across his brother's face and plastron. "Don't go, _don't."_

Mikey lingered a moment longer, and then he was gone, and Donnie's hands hovered in the empty space he left behind.

–

The worst part was watching Donnie zone out. He'd stopped making sense awhile ago, his eyes sort of glazed, almost like when he was going on three nights in a row without sleep. And as hard as Mikey tried to keep him conscious, keep him talking, his genius brother's head was starting to dip a little lower with each minute that went by.

Mikey had unwrapped their hands and feet, stripped off their masks and belts- their gear was in a pile by the door- and wrapped Donnie's leg as best he could. It was all so thin it barely stopped the bleeding, but barely was good enough for now.

The dude guarding them was working under Hun, and he looked… pretty wasted. He was really twitchy, and he looked sort of nervous, eyes flicking all over the room and only barely ever looking at them. Maybe he was freaked out he was stuck in here with mutant turtles, or maybe he just wasn't really hip to this deal his boss had worked out with the Shredder, Mikey didn't know.

What he _did_ know was that Donnie needed help, big time. And that made Twitchy his new best friend.

Coaxing him into conversation wasn't hard. Mikey grew up with _Raph,_ after all, and if he could get Raph to talk, he could get _anyone_ to talk. But it took awhile, it took a lot, and with Donnie getting heavier and heavier in his arms, Mikey was half-afraid his heart would beat right out of his chest and straight through his shell before he accomplished _anything_.

Donnie would have had an awesome plan, if he hadn't been hurt. He would have come up with something brilliant in like two minutes, max, if he hadn't been shot. But he had been. And Mikey wasn't smart like Donnie was. Mikey's plan wasn't awesome _or_ brilliant.

But he was gonna make it work.

If someone had asked Mikey _before_ tonight if he would ever be willing to leave one of his brothers behind in some dingy room in some dingy warehouse off the docks, delirious and scared and with a bullet hole in his leg- well, Mikey probably would have just laughed himself silly, because what a stupid question, right? There was _no way_ , right?

Hah, nope. There was. There was, and it was literally the worst thing in the entire universe. Donnie's eyes were unfocused, his attempts to hold Mikey awkward and kitten-like, and he was crying and his voice was breaking, and Mikey thought his heart was breaking, too, as he forced himself to pull away from his brother's reaching arms.

He couldn't say it out loud, not with Twitchy right there, but he held Don's eyes and _willed_ him to understand, _I'll be back for you soon._

 _–_

You've been held at gunpoint before, but never by a five foot turtle. You raised your hands on principle, but you're somehow too stunned by the situation to be scared for your life.

"I don't like guns," the turtle says bluntly. "I stole this off your buddy Wayne." Wayne, who's out cold and sprawled across the floor behind you like a greasy sack of potatoes. "I don't want to shoot you. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'll _totally_ shoot you. You creeps hurt my brother. But I'd rather not, you know?"

"Yeah," you say, slowly. "Yeah, I'm with you on that."

"Rad." The Sig Sauer goes down; where it was leveled at chest height before, it's pointed at the ground now, and the freckled creature looks almost _friendly,_ the way it smiles crookedly at you. Almost. "In _that_ case, you're gonna help me out."

The Sig's still in his hand, and his narrowed eyes are steady. You don't exactly have a choice. "What do I have to do?"

"First, we're gonna get my brother," the turtle says, and if the way he's lingering guardedly by the open door is any indication, you can guess his brother is right inside, "and _then_ we're gonna steal Hun's Lambo. And _you're_ gonna be our get-away driver! You didn't like this job anyway, right?"

You should have taken your chances with the gun.


End file.
